


The Bonds of Family

by TheWritingSquid



Series: The Bonds of Family [5]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Action, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dadgil, Familiars and Son Were Definitely Injured in the Making of this Fic, Fortuna is Always Trouble, Gen, Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Vergil's research into demonic seals and Sparda's past leads him to one conclusion: a powerful demon is about to devour Fortuna. When he tries to interrupt the summoning, however, he finds himself face to face with the island's protector.
Relationships: Griffon & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nightmare & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Shadow & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: The Bonds of Family [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1373107
Comments: 81
Kudos: 188





	1. The Moving Seal

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last planned fic in the Familiars AU. It's best read if you have also read [the first one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876523/chapters/44805235), but you could easily skip 2 to 4 and still understand this one. 
> 
> If not, here is what you need to know for this to mostly make sense (spoilers for that first fic):  
> 1) Vergil has remade his bonds with the familiars on the Qliphoth and has been doing demon archeology for 10 years with them.  
> 2) He loses against Dante atop the Qliphoth. Griffon convinces Dante to spare him but take all his powers and the Yamato.  
> 3) Nero never reaches the top of the Qliphoth. This means he never unlocked his full powers/regrew his arms, and that Vergil did not know he had a son.

Blood dripped from his katana as he took stock of his surroundings, the demons turning to ashes at his feet. Bright orange patterns lit the curved walls around him, the same Vergil had seen reproduced over and over in his research, always present throughout history whenever this gigantic marlboro-type demon appeared. Except he was certain details remained missing from the pattern here. Vergil spread his notes out on the central altar, his heart hammering. This demon was about to return, the heart of its summoning circle forming right under Vergil's feet, and he didn’t have long to figure out how to stop its completion. 

_“We shoulda warned Lady, we totally should’ve. This is big, Vergil, I can feel it!”_

Despite the distance between them, Griffon’s voice came loud and clear, an unsurprising thread of panic within. His three demons fought in the park area outside, killing minor devils as they crossed through slits in the veil. Nothing big had slipped through yet, though Griffon's boisterous fighting style might have alerted Fortuna’s locals nonetheless.

 _“I didn’t think I’d be this late!”_

He must have miscalculated the timeline, damnit. He’d expected to have weeks to spare, giving him plenty of time to dig into previous manifestation of this phenomena while he watched the signs unfold in Fortuna. The particular demon was unlike anything he’d hunted before, and as far as he could tell, Sparda had been on its track before he vanished, too. He had found notes about it over the course of the last decades, scattered across the world, and only in the last few months had he realised they pointed to the same creature, a demonic force that surged every 600 years or so and engulfed entire cities. When his father had first established himself in Fortuna, he had believed the Marlboro would emerge here due to the thinness in the veil. He hadn’t been wrong, but his estimations had turned out a few hundred years off. 

Compared to that, two weeks wasn’t much, really, but they might still cost Vergil his chance to prepare and even stop this demon. He’d underestimated the impact of the thinness of the veil and now he was running out of time. Their team had killed a fair share of demons on their way to the central shrine, slowing down to try and let none slip towards more dense parts of the city, but he suspected it had been the wrong tactical decision: the time lost had only allowed this summoning circle to form further. 

Perhaps he _should_ have brought Lady in. She would have wiped out the rabble outside while he figured this out, at least, and they worked well together. He'd hired her help a few times over the years, when he knew demons would overrun a shrine, and he retained agreeable memories of these joint expeditions and their long nights competing at sarya. She had even sent him an address months ago, with a note indicating he was lucky she hadn’t burned the house down, and when he had travelled to it, he had found all of Arkham’s research. She would have been a reliable and pleasant addition to their work today. Too late now, however. The summoning seal was still changing before his very eyes, new lines forming along the shrine's walls, spreading in a spiral like ink dripping along invisible grooves.

The swirling pattern had reached the ground and it slowly inched towards his position at the center. Vergil tore his eyes away from it, pushing his glasses back up on his nose and closing his link to Griffon and the others to focus on his notes. He could not allow himself to be distracted, not if he meant to stop this, and he trusted them to handle the battle outside.

His detailed sketch of the complete seal spread before him, but the lines crossed before his eyes without rhymes or reasons. The low thread of panic at the bottom of his mind scattered his focus. He hadn’t expected to play find-the-errors today, least of all under pressure, holding a miniature, flat, and probably incomplete version of the three-dimensional final summoning sigil. Major summons like this one tended to require human sacrifices and have a clear catalyst--someone or something provoking it, providing a tangible target to take down. Instead it was happening right under his feet, without any cultist or demon in sight. Power crackled in the air, the veil growing ever-thinner as Vergil traced his drawings, matching his lines to the orange grooves shining in the ambient sunlight.

He was so focused on his task, he barely heard the great glass dome above shatter. He did, however, register the tug of a familiar presence, a power he’d wielded for years, a constant companion at his hip.

 _Yamato_. 

Vergil’s instincts flooded in, screaming danger. He flung himself to the side as a shower of glass crashed on his head, flipping to face his assailant, and hot red pain burst through his left shoulder. Shock threw him off balance and he caught himself on the altar behind as his gaze met sky-blue eyes like his, darkened by anger and a different kind of pain than the one coursing through his shoulder. 

“Nero…” he breathed. A trickle of blood started its way down his wound. Vergil glanced at the beautiful blade embedded into him, the deadly grace filling him with longing. To think Nero had stabbed him with his own sword… 

“Keep my name out of your fucking mouth,” Nero retorted, pushing the Yamato in harder. Vergil gritted his teeth against the scorching agony as hot liquid splashed on his hand set against the altar, where he’d caught himself. Blood. His blood. “Didn’tcha learn staying dead is better for you yet?”

“Oh shit, _shit_ , V! Hey, knucklehead, ya leave him alone!” 

Griffon swooped down from above, diving through the broken ceiling, and Nero swiped Blue Rose out and aimed it. Vergil’s stomach plunged--he’d seen Nero shoot often enough to know he wouldn’t miss--and he lunged forward, sliding even further along the Yamato’s edge and pushing Nero’s wrist just enough to tip his aim. The blast rang through his head as his pain flared, and between them, he could barely put two thoughts together.

“Wait…” he muttered, out of breath, his vision swimming. “This isn’t--”

“What it looks like?” Nero cut off. 

Sparks ran along Griffon’s wings, and Vergil belatedly realized he had no idea what his bird was thinking. He loosened his hold on the link, only to discover the other familiars all rushing for the shrine. Vergil ordered them to back off and tried to wall off their collective consternation and worry. He needed to make sense of this, and his brain wasn’t working properly, and all he could think of was that the Yamato shouldn’t be here--not even in this general part of the world. He’d entrusted it to _Dante_.

“Why do _you_ have the Yamato?”

Nero’s scowl twisted into a snarl, but the question had spilled out before Vergil considered how ill-advised it was, in the current circumstances. He couldn’t help it. Dante had _promised_ to take care of it, only to give it right back to Nero? The boy was good, but he wasn’t-- 

“Fuck you, it’s my inheritance now.”

Inheritance? What did he mean?

Bright orange lines flared under their feet, completing the circle, and before Vergil could parse out Nero’s meaning, a vertical line of fire tore the reality behind him, opening up into a hazy, hellish landscape. Nero gasped in pain and his grip on the Yamato faltered. He glanced down, boyish features twisting into a horrified grimace as he spotted the fleshy hook through his abdomen, then looked right back up at Vergil. 

They both understood exactly what was about to follow. Nero’s eyes widened in horror--blue eyes, eyes like _his_ \--as Vergil lunged forward, but the demon pulled hard and fast, yanking him away. Vergil’s fingers brushed the tip of Nero’s metallic devil breaker, then he vanished into the haze, the portal’s fiery edge already collapsing back.

“Vergil!” Griffon called, his panic rising, crowding out every other thought as he soaked in Vergil’s own, stunned mind and the only path forward he could see. “Oh no, no, no, don’t--”

Vergil leapt into Hell after Nero, the Yamato still embedded deep in his shoulder.


	2. Foul Mouthed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil and Nero are stuck in Hell, wounded, and must form an uneasy truce in order to take down the Malboro demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BICKER BANTER INCOMING. Gosh I love them.
> 
> CW for body horror for that demon.

In Hell, his mind is quiet.

Vergil had never realized how empty it feels without the three demons crowding in, threads of their raw emotions weaving into his own. Even when he shut down the link, there was always a presence lingering at the edges, waiting to be welcomed back in. Now there is nothing, and the void rattles him. It isn't unlike first waking up without his powers; it feels like a part of him has been ripped away, leaving jagged edges behind. He could get used to it, sure, but he doesn't want to. The link must have cut when the portal closed behind him. The best he can do to get them back is to return to the human world as fast as he can.

Slowly, Vergil stumbles to his feet. The ground under him is muddied, covered by a thick pinkish mist which rises in inexplicable columns, like trees made entirely of fog. Water drips somewhere, even though he doesn't see any. That's nothing special. He remembers this much about the place, at least: Hell defies normal senses, always filled with noises and smells without sources, sights that flicker in and out, distances that shrink according to unseen currents of power. Navigating it is as much strength of will as physical sturdiness--good news for him, as he has much of the former, but the katana piercing through his shoulder will drain the latter fast.

Vergil wraps his fingers around the Yamato and closes his eyes. Ten years have passed, yet the grip feels like home, a friend long lost now returning. He slides it out without hesitation, and here, where all senses are distorted, the pain feels both distant and profound, its burn leaking inside instead of out. Vergil briefly staggers from it. His entire arm buzzes, like fireflies have taken residence in it; he knows it’ll be useless in battle.

He should get going. It won’t be long before the whole of him is useless with that kind of wound, yet instead his thoughts stray away from the present, to the echoes of his past. He’d stood in Hell once before, wounded but determined to fight, alone but for the Yamato at his side. It feels like yesterday and ages ago; it feels like he could take a step forward and rewind time, only it’s too late, he’s already made his mistakes. He’s in Hell, now, today, and he has even less power than before.

But it won’t be like before. He has a precise goal right now and the veil between human and demon world is so thin, he can leave at any time. He needs to refocus, to keep his mind on that. This is the other thing about Hell; the sensory confusion doesn’t stop with smell or sight, it affects time, too. Minutes can feel like days, hours like seconds. Vergil isn’t even sure how long he’s spent standing there, the Yamato in hand, bleeding out.

He glances at his wound and finds it almost closed. It’s red, it still hurts, but it has healed, visibly so, more quickly than he has in the last decade. Are his powers coming back? His heart hammering, Vergil raises the Yamato, lining the thin blade with one of the fog trees and reaching within, to the slivers Dante had left him. The pool is there, still very thin but already more vibrant, and he smirks as the air distorts blue and invisible blades cut through it.

It feels so natural, so _right_. With a brush of his mind, he’s pinched time and space and teleported himself halfway across this strange forest of fog. This is him, he knows it, has always known it, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise. It all clicks back into place as the power slowly pools back in.

Then a very human scream, a booming gunshot, and a familiar “begone, asshole!” echo across the sky, reminding him of his purpose. Nero is conscious and fighting. That is good, and although the origin of the sounds are hard to pinpoint, Vergil has learned to navigate this place before. He strides in the direction of his best guest and wills himself to have picked right. He can feel Hell fighting back, like this dimension has a mind of its own--one that loves to leave its residents stranded--so he makes his mind a single thought.

_Nero._

Nero who claimed the Yamato as his inheritance, who had the katana to begin with, a gift from Dante. Nero, who has lived all his life in Fortuna, who has the right age and his white hair and his blue eyes. It hurts to think that it might be true, he might have a son, one well into his thirties, and this is the first he knows of it. It hurts even more to think all the clues have always been right in front of him, but that even when Griffon laid them out for V, he had refused to see. But he cannot allow himself to think of this and consider all the ramifications now. He needs to focus on Nero himself.

The landscape around him shifts brutally, the mist tumbling down to reveal jagged spikes, the muddy ground hardening and then breaking off into a brutal cliff. And below, Nero fights the Marlboro demon, a blitz of sword and gun, his Red Queen occasionally flaring into a bright flame as he slashes at all the hooked appendages trying to sink into him. 

It takes a moment for Vergil to fully comprehend the demon before him. Sharp-toothed mouths open from the ground, yawning wide as they try to catch Nero’s feet or lashing out with a hooked tentacle-tongue, keeping him ever moving, his boots squishing on the ground. That sound, strangely resonant despite the distance, is what tips Vergil off: the demon isn’t _in_ the ground, he _is_ the ground--the whole landscape below is one large mass of putrid flesh, a hundred different mouths with deadly tongues capable of slicing the veil and capturing human victims, dragging them back to a brutal death.

All of it is directed at Nero now, a dance he impossibly tries to keep up with, every step more stumbling than the previous one. Hooks dive towards him, a dozen from all directions, and he points his devil breaker at the ground, launching himself upward with the shockwave in a desperate attempt to ditch them. Blood flies out of his abdomen wound at the brutal flight up, and the tentacles follow, grouping together under him. Nero is swinging Red Queen about, his movement sluggish, dragged by pain and exhaustion.

Vergil brings the Yamato to bear with a twirl, and his mind slides along the blade, through time and space and to the fight below. It’s such an easy process now, to guide the Yamato and leave a clean blue line through the tentacles, years of practice flowing back in. Pieces of tentacles slide off each other and fall down as he lowers the katana, and Nero looks up, eyes widening. They hold each other’s gaze briefly across the distance, then gravity starts pulling Nero back down. Vergil flings the Yamato out, using it as an anchor to direct his teleportation and catching it halfway through the air, in that distorted space he vanishes to briefly, then reappearing right behind Nero.

This time, the trick pulls at his reserve, leaves him lightheaded--a stark reminder that he doesn’t have his powers back, only what little the Yamato affords him, and he should be careful.

“Came to gloat?” Nero’s voice is rough, anger barely burying the pain in it. He’s not healing, and that hook can’t have come out cleanly. It’s impressive that he’s standing at all. 

“I seek to stop this demon and I refuse to let yourhasty conclusion stop me.”

Nero doesn't get a chance to reply. The ground under their feet yawns and a barbed tongue lashes out. They both spring away wordlessly, spinning on themselves to cut it down; Nero with a powerful horizontal slash, Vergil with a precise diagonal severing it towards the base. Then there are other mouths, other tentacles, and no time for more than the fight. Vergil tries to keep his use of the Yamato's powers to a minimum, even though they call to him, a searing longing that courses through hand and arm and heart. It's best not to think of the deep gouges this reunion leaves in him, more dangerous than any demon. It's his sword, but he gave it up a decade ago when he accepted Dante’s final win.

Its new owner stumbles, blood loss taking its toll, and as tentacles rise to strike him down, all thoughts of conserving power vanish. Vergil teleports to Nero, briefly squeezing time as his blade flashes and cuts down the tentacles. He isn't paying attention to his own feet until teeth clamp down hard on his ankle, sharp jolting pain coursing through him. Nero shoots the protruding mouth within a second, though, and the pressure releases. They're back to back again, their breaths short. Nero is pale despite the exertion and Vergil can feel him tremble.

“Perhaps you should let me handle this,” he suggests.

Nero scoffs. “I can still fight.”

Vergil recognizes the words and tone, has used them himself, and he knows there is no point in arguing. And yet, he cannot help himself, to some extent. “This is no meagre demon, Nero. It has ravaged entire cities for centuries.”

“Then it’s about time we kick its ass, dontcha think?”

The ‘we’ makes Vergil smile, but their temporary reprieve is over. Vergil springs back into battle, gritting his teeth against the pain flaring in his ankle with every step. This wave of attack doesn’t last long, but only because the tentacles suddenly lose interest in them, instead flying into the sky and tearing it apart. A first returns, one human impaled upon it, dragging it down towards its mouth. Nero swears.

“Cut them down!” he calls.

At first, Vergil thinks it’s a waste of power. People _will_ die; they need to focus on the demon itself. But in all of his research, he’s only ever seen one image of this Marlboro demon--a mountainous creature that devoured an entire city, if the records are to be believed. The records had a single illustration, the mound of flesh several stories tall, and while it had hundreds of smaller mouths, its main body was a single, gigantic one, with rows upon rows of sharp teeth and a single, enormous tongue that split into hundreds hooked appendages. They need to get _that_ , but it won’t come out if it can casually feed through smaller mouths.

So he sets to work cutting down the tongues, drawing upon the Yamato’s power to reach farther when running won’t cut it. His wounded ankle burns and blood has soaked his boots now. It’s not healing, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts stumbling, too. Nero isn’t in any better shape, but he doesn’t slow down, slicing and shooting, sometimes using his mechanical arm’s force field to propulse himself across the landscape faster. He leaves a trail of blood behind, and Vergil starts to wonder if anything but sheer determination holds him up.

A deep rumble in the ground is all the warning they get, and suddenly the fleshy ground under them pulls back, faster than Vergil would’ve thought possible. It unbalances him and all his weight shifts to his wounded ankle before he can catch himself. A pit of sharp teeth looms, ready to catch him, but fingers clamp into his coat first before he falls and Nero once more points his breaker to the ground, pushing them both away. They’re nowhere near safe, but the momentary reprieve is enough for Vergil to recover. He flings the Yamato out again, towards the ridge he first arrived on. A fraction of a second later, he’s teleported them and they’re slamming hard against its safe ground, both out of breath. Vergil’s head spins and he can feel his shoulder throbbing as hard as his ankle now, but he sits up while Nero struggles to get his arms under him.

They watch as the mouth continues to open, bigger than Vergil had properly imagined, bigger than the Temen-ni-gru’s diameter, maybe twice as big. It feels insurmountable, an impossibly large void meant to annihilate without distinction, and for a brief moment, fear curls at the bottom of his stomach. There’s only the two of them, Nero is slowly dying, and he is near-powerless. Yet when the main tongue emerges, an amalgam of thousands of tentacular hooks merged together into a single, tremendous, veil-piercing unit, Vergil finds himself smiling. 

“Fuck,” Nero says, his eyes tracking its slow ascent upward as it reaches out to destroy what thin barrier still keeps it away from the human world and Fortuna.

“Excellent,” Vergil declares.

This is what he needed access to. There is only one way to finish this. He lets his thoughts sink into the Yamato, then throws it out, teleporting after it. It’s a long distance, one he’d never manage in the human world, but Vergil knows Hell plays by its own rules, and he _needs_ to get there. Willpower carries him the extra mile, and he reappears right next to the thick demonic tongue. Vergil gags at the stench but sets both hands on the Yamato as he swings it overhead, the unparalleled blade slicing through easily. Gravity pulls him down, his katana ripping through the flesh and his shoulder screaming in pain, the wound reopening from the effort. All he sees is the burnt grey flesh before him, the red-brown blood gushing out, and the encroaching darkness at the edges.

Then the nature of the darkness changes, and as he glances up, he sees the first layer of teeth above. Yet he keeps falling, blade slashing through, and Vergil wonders if there’s anything but void in this monster, if he’ll fall until blood loss catches up to him and he loses consciousness. He tightens his grip on the Yamato, promising himself that no matter what, he won’t lose it again.

When his feet slam into something hard and sharp, gouging his legs, he holds on to the katana. Most of his lower body is agony now, but pain is something he’s fought often enough. He’s lived with it for years as Nelo Angelo, and while the memory is gone, the discipline remains. Teeth caught him, everything stinks and hurts, but he’s reached the base of the tongue, the heart of this demon. If he can focus enough for a judgement cut… 

A burst of bright blue energy pierces through the demon above, a single powerful ray that eats through flesh and tongue, forcing Vergil to squint. It leaves a burning hole behind, and Nero flies through with a laugh, his devil breaker nothing but smoke now, Red Queen burning bright in his other hand. He lands next to Vergil, just a step away from the teeth proper, but the shock is enough to buckle him to his knees.

“It’s ugly out there,” he said. His voice is weak, hollow. He doesn’t let it stop him. “Let’s get this over with. I take the other side.”

An orange wire bursts through the smoke of his arm and thunks into the tongue’s flesh. Nero leaps off, swinging himself in a wide arc, and drops of his blood hit Vergil’s cheek as he does. They do need to finish this. He sets his hands against the teeth holding him, ignoring the sharpness through his gloves, and extricates himself from them. The pain is horrid, but he can feel the remnant of the Yamato soothing it, and when he tries to stand, he finds his feet stay under him. Vergil doesn’t ask himself how long it’ll last. It’s best not to know.

“Are you prepared?” he calls, and winces at the frailty of his own voice. 

“Fuck it up, old man!” 

Nero’s reply is all bluster, too, covering his own weakness. Vergil smiles. It’s becoming easier to see what they have in common.

No time for that, he reminds himself.

He sinks back into the Yamato, twining his will into the magic of the blade. In many ways, the katana simply extends itself beyond its body, cutting through the fabric of things way beyond its reach and physicality. Vergil seeks that out now, stretching the edge far and wide as he slices in a horizontal arc. A burst of light from the other side reaches him--Nero’s Red Queen, flames leaping out as he matches Vergil’s strike and meets him at the center. Two bright lines slice across the gigantic tongue, one blue, one orange.

The entire demon buckles under the attack, throwing Vergil down and almost knocking his glasses off. Sparks fly in front of his eyes and by the time they clear, an arm has wrapped around his chest and he’s flying back out, carried by Nero through the hole he’s created. They both land on the shifting ground of writhing flesh outside and stumble into a frantic run. Vergil shifts his mind towards the Yamato, but this time he can barely feel the sword’s magic. He’s too drained for teleportation.

Tongues lash out at them as they sprint, and between Blue Rose and the Yamato, they manage to keep them at bay. They’re coming in with less and less energy, anyway, and it feels like the flesh under their boots is hardening. Dying. Yet it takes a while for either of them to realize nothing pursues them anymore; they’ve made it, they’ve killed it and the large gaping mouth is opened towards the sky, unmoving.

For once, Hell is eerily silent. It’s not just the absence in Vergil’s mind--it’s like the whole place is taking a shocked breath. Nero crumbles to the ground, and the sweat on his face is not all from the effort. His skin is too clammy for that, his breathing is short, and his shirt is soaked red. Vergil’s pants are a mess of sticky blood and gashes, but he knows better than to sit. The moment he stops demanding work from his leg, it will give up on him.

“Get up,” he says. They need to return to the human world.

Nero lifts his head enough to glare at him and gestures at the sword. “Give it back.”

The request is a punch in the gut. Vergil ignores it. He doesn’t want to part with it yet, and he’s sliced through the veil more often than Nero, he’s almost certain of it. So instead of answering, he pulls the younger demon hunter up, holding him steady. To his surprise, Nero doesn’t fight back. He must really be at the end of his strength. 

Vergil ignores the tug of worry in his stomach and lifts the Yamato. The demon has thinned the veil so much, it barely takes any focus to split it apart once more. Then again, everything always feels easy to him, when he has the Yamato in hand. He almost wants to stay here, where he knows he gets to keep it, but the rest of his family is on the other side and not even the Yamato can fill that empty space in his mind. Vergil doesn’t know if it’s been minutes or hours, back in the human world, can’t even tell how much it has felt like for himself, but he knows one thing: it’s been too long and his familiars are waiting. He steps through the portal, dragging Nero along, eager for his link to reform.

Only, the same emptiness meets him in the human world.


	3. One or the Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vergil needs to make a choice.

The bond snapped as soon as the portal collapsed, ripping Vergil away from them and tearing them apart from one another. Griffon crashed down from the sudden burst of pain, hitting the brightly-lit ground face first. Damn, but that hurt. Hard to tell if he was more stunned from it or the brutal void in his mind, the absence where fond smugness used to reside. What an inconsiderate fool! He’d just thrown himself into Hell and left them behind, without even a moment’s hesitation. And for what? A smartass boy who’d _just_ stabbed him!

Griffon shook the thought away and got to his feet with a flap of his wings and a little hop. It wasn’t like that. Vergil would be back; he’d just gone after Nero on impulse. Sure, it felt exactly like when V had restored himself, putting a sudden end to their contract, and sure, Vergil had been in the middle of a lot of big, indecipherable feelings over the possibility of having a son, but all that didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t. They’d spent ten years together and he loved them, he did, even if he was an ass about showing it most of the time.

They were a team, a _family_ , and just because Vergil had flung himself into Hell to maybe-probably team up with his actual, just-discovered family didn’t have to mean he’d forget Griffon.

It didn’t have to be one or the other.

It. Didn’t.

Now if his silly heart could follow that logic and leave his brain alone, he’d be really grateful for it. They had plenty of time before the lack of power eroded them, plenty of time for Vergil to come back for them, and a lot to do in the meantime. Judging by the great roar from outside, demons still roamed Fortuna a-plenty and the two humans most apt to defend it were gone. Sure, the city had, like, the tattered remnants of a knighthood to help, but would that even be remotely enough?

No, these people needed the demon squad, and since they’d all be hanging around until Vergil showed back up--and he would, he absolutely would--then they might as well clean up and show everyone how awesome they were! Helping humans was kinda pointless, but they were easily impressed and maybe they’d cheer on them or something. It was worth a try. Would keep them distracted from their missing member, their missing bonds, their missing _everything_.

Cripes, he really needed that distraction.

Griffon flew off, zooming back through the broken glass to get a grip on the situation (and maybe himself, that would be good, seriously). The quaint little park around this shrine had taken quite a beating. Several trees lay on the ground, sliced through by scythe-like appendages or deadly tails. Some still held but had been crowded by those dancing many-legged weirdos who loved Sparda a tad too much for comfort, and who just bounced from one tree to the other, swinging around like monkeys. Hellbats flew circles around, setting leaves on fire, while jester-style demons with scythe-like arms ran away, no doubt smelling the humans at the edge of the greenery.

Vergil would have had some burning commentary on the clowns, Griffon just knew it, and its absence was a sharp blade of pain.

 _Focus,_ he scolded himself, but that had also been Vergil’s speciality, he really was no good at it, and he’d become even worse since he’d come to rely on his paper boy to subtly nudge his thoughts back on track. He didn’t even have Nightmare’s calm to help! But the big demon ought to be somewhere in the demon party out there, he just had to keep his wits about himself and--there!

The familiar purple eyes moved from behind a tree in the distance as Nightmare straightened up, their ridged shoulders suddenly towering over the canopy. Relief made his wings briefly weak. _A friend_. A powerful friend, too! Good, good, because the moment he started zapping the demons, the demons would zap back. Or claw or sting or fire back. Whatever they could, really!

“Hey, Nightmare, so good to see ya, buddy!” Griffon swooped in closer, banking in front of the great demon. “Ya doin’ okay? It’s been so long since we last talked! I mean, I know I know, just a couple o’ minutes, but when ya spend your life in each other’s mind, that’s kinda a lot!”

Nightmare didn’t--couldn’t--answer, of course, so Griffon tried to imagine that almost amused warmth they’d no doubt send, then he settled on the great demon’s shoulders.

“Ya up for some demon killin’ while we wait? We oughta find Shadow--get the band together!--clear things up until paper boy gets his ass out of Hell. Sounds good?” He paused, and Nightmare leaned forward, stepping down on a smaller clown-demon. A yes, then! “Great! I’ll herd the great kitty back here. Explode everythin’ if ya need help!”

Not that Nightmare was likely to require any assistance, but Griffon sure did love to make himself feel useful.

He flew off, circling the forest that bordered Fortuna, eyes peeled for a black and deadly panther. The sound of Shadow slicing through flesh caught his attention first, and he veered in that direction. The thick canopy blocked most of his sight, so Griffon plunged between branches and weaved through trunks, following the sweet, sweet music of Shadow killing everything. A great black wheel ripped through several trees, splashing demon flesh and rend chitin as it spun, before Shadow reformed and landed on her feet.

"Kitty!" Griffon exclaimed. "How have you been?"

Shadow growled, the patterns on her body lighting up as three spikes burst out of her. They flew for Griffon, and he squawked in alarm and banked down. They slammed into a gigantic fiery bat right behind him, its body pouch exploding in a spray of lava burning grass and leaves all around. Griffon landed on a branch, staring at the disaster left behind. For a moment there, he'd thought…

"Whew, hey, thanks for that Shadow! Ya really are the MVP." He flapped his wings, allowing electricity to gather along his feathers. A dozen jester-demons and chitin-like plants were closing in on them, and he'd have to do his part and zap a few soon. "So huh, ya might have noticed our paper boy snapped everything off. Reckless little bastard flung himself right into Hell!"

And he would die there, totally would! What had Vergil been thinking? He didn't have any powers and he'd been stabbed already! They were doomed, all doomed, just because Vergil couldn't be bothered to think through any of the reckless ideas that passed through his knucklehead! Griffon huffed and unleashed a string of lightning bolts on the closest demons, venting some frustration. At the very same time, Shadow curled on herself, transforming into a tight ball before sending spikes into every direction like a massive hedgehog. She pierced every single demon around, and her spikes had barely retreated before more sprung from the ground, creating a minefield of death around her. The only few feet left unscathed were those around Griffon's tree.

She was angry. Or worried. Or both.

“Yeah, kitty, I miss him too.”

Shadow retracted all of her spikes at once before bounding for his tree, prowling under his branch. Griffon watched the many demons crumple down, pale white but still alive, awaiting a finishing blow that’d never come.

Well! Not never! Couldn’t start thinking like that, oh no. Vergil would come back, he had to. He’d been through worse a dozen times over, hadn’t he? He wasn’t abandoning them, not at all, he was just an idiot. That was totally it.

“Nightmare’s still with us! I say, we should stick together--like a team. We don’t need Vergil to be kickin’ ass, am I right?” He took off, circling over Shadow once before flying towards Nightmare, the great panther on his heels. “We gotta watch out for each other, conserve power while Vergil’s traipsing in Hell. As long as we’re around when he comes back, it’ll all be good, no problem!”

It’d be simpler if they shared health and power, but Nightmare wouldn’t be fixing any wounds until their bond had been reformed. It didn’t stop them from garnering most of the attention, their great fists slamming into minor demons as they spun around the forest, crushing the enemy. Griffon and Shadow darted in and out around them, zapping and slicing what Nightmare had missed, a decade of teamwork clinching into place even without the shared minds to guide them. They’d gone through these movements so often, none of them needed to talk to predict the others’ movements. Not that it stopped Griffon from mocking the poor demons caught in their cross-fire, his laughter flying freely at the smell of charred flesh and destruction. This helped, totally helped keep him mind off things, even if the demons kept coming and the exertion tired him, and without Vergil he’d never replenish and--

Shadow’s hurt meow cut through his scrambling thoughts, and although no pain flashed through his mind to match it, Griffon’s flight staggered and he veered. A parasitic demon had latched upon her, digging its tendrils into her body no matter what shape she gave herself, clinging hard and fast. Griffon dove for it, electricity coursing all over his body as he slammed into the parasite and zapped it, but the thing held on, one hook so deep it refused to be torn away. The flashing patterns on Shadow’s back lost in intensity, and Griffon’s panic rose with it.

“Kitty! C’mon, kitty-cat, ya gotta protect yourself! Don’t let that nidhogg-wannabe in!”

Shadow released a final growl, and its form snapped entirely back, curling into a tight ball until it crystalized into an orb, its centre a magenta gem glowing softly. The parasite thumped to the ground, and Griffon wasted no time picking it up with his talons and flinging it towards Nightmare, who smashed it into a tree. Tiny bit of overkill, right there, but damn Griffon shared the anger. Shadow’s stalemate orb didn’t sit well with him, not at all, and why the hell wasn’t Vergil back yet?

At least there was a little bit less demons about, and many lay writhing waiting for a finishing blow, but of course that wasn’t gonna be the end of all this bullshit. The thought had barely crossed Griffon’s mind that tiny rip appeared in the veil, and hooked tentacles flew right through. They stabbed demons, dragging ‘em right back to Hell, and Griffon found himself weaving in between very hungry tentacles to keep himself safe. Nightmare didn’t have that mobility, though, and the things kept digging into their flesh and trying to pull them back. They tore them away, and Griffon zapped a bunch off, but that wasn’t doing any good for the already-inflicted damage, and the way Nightmare’s single eye grew paler with every new attack.

They were running out of time, out of power, and Griffon had no idea what to do about it because there was nothing he could do, not this time. They needed a host, all three of them, but their chosen human had gone to Hell, ripping their links to shred, leaving them to fend for themselves. Soon even Nightmare had to retreat into the security of the stalemate orb, leaving Griffon alone, circling his two friends and sending bolts of lightning against any demons who approached, his hope and energy diminishing with every passing second.

Vergil was gone, and soon they would be, too, without even a goodbye.

###

Vergil didn’t immediately understand what he’d done. The bond hadn’t rushed back in, not as it was supposed to, but after a moment he did notice a frayed feeling--something that resembled his usual link, but distorted and weak, as if someone or something had tried to chop it into bits. A cold horror gripped his insides and he let the twisted sensation guide his eyes… until they fell upon three battered stalemate orbs.

Shock and panic coursed through him, strangling his reflexive “ _no_ ”. He dropped Nero, barely aware of the grunt of pain the fall drew out of the young man, and stepped towards the orbs. Purple, magenta, blue. All three, within a few meters of each other, their central core dim. A wide crack had already spread on Nightmare’s surface, and the black patterns covering all three seemed washed out, an ash-like grey.

 _Dead demons ash_ , his mind provided. _You killed them._

Vergil stumbled closer, his mind spinning. That couldn’t be. They wouldn’t have died so fast, even disconnected from him. They had to be in there still, he could save them, he had to. They needed him, and so he threw everything he had down the twisted link, the mockery of their bond, searching for the familiar energy of his three demons, the presences he’d grown so fond of. He found nothing, not even a hint of warmth. They felt gone, and he had no idea what had happened, if a demon had hurt them, if the shock of the separation had been enough, if they’d thought him gone, too. Maybe with blood… But no, that was for new contracts. Theirs existed still, in that scrawny, corrupted link. What he needed was the power to restore it, to feed it energy and save them.

“Vergil!”

The fury in Nero’s voice made him think it wasn’t the first time the younger man called his name. Vergil almost ignored him anyway, only glancing back. Nero had dragged himself to a rock and propped himself up. Vergil belatedly realized they were outside now, not inside where they’d vanished. The Yamato had brought him directly to his friends. His grip tightened on the katana.

Nero gestured for it. “Give me the Yamato.”

“No.” Vergil snapped the answer back. The Yamato had brought him here so he could understand his next step, so he’d know he needed to keep it with him. There was only one way he could save Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare: he needed to return to the _Devil May Cry_ and retrieve his power.

“Just, ugh--” Nero threw one arm up--the skeleton of his devil breaker--while the other kept pressure on his wound. “Listen asshole, I can’t heal without it. Give it back.”

Vergil had already lifted the blade, preparing to leave--he didn’t have much time, not with his own shoulder and leg bleeding, weakening him--but he froze, a new weight dropping at the bottom of his stomach. This couldn’t… no. _No._ He met Nero’s gaze, looked him over one more time. He’d lost so much blood in Hell, it was a miracle he was even conscious still. How much longer did he have? What if it wasn’t long enough for Vergil to get his power and return? But if he stayed here, if he surrendered the Yamato, then…

He turned to his three orbs again, the companions who’d saved his life, taught him so much about who he wanted to be, who he was. They were a part of him, and it was missing, dying, all because he’d thoughtlessly thrown himself after Nero. After _his son_.

Vergil’s lungs squeezed so hard he couldn’t breathe anymore. His thoughts froze. He was losing family again, because he was too weak, unable to protect those who mattered. The reality was a fire burning through him, striking life into wounds he’d almost healed. He shouldn’t have to make this choice. He _couldn’t_. But if he did nothing, then all four of them would be gone, and he’d have no one but himself to blame.

He could hate himself later, when this was all over, but for now he needed to _act_. He looked once more at the Yamato, his beloved katana, which had brought him here. To the three familiars.

Vergil raised it, tearing the fabric of reality and opening a new portal. The haze stared back at him as Nero called his name, voice rough with anger and fear. He forced himself to turn his head, to look in his direction, if not at him. If he was going to let him die, the least he owed his son was an apology.

“I’m sorry, Nero.”

Then he stepped into the portal, and directly into the _Devil May Cry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;-;


	4. The Power to Protect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil faces off with Dante for the first time in a decade, desperate to retrieve his power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last three days have been one coronavirus-news after another, and I forgot to update! O.o Here we go!

Vergil stumbled into the _Devil May Cry_ , his bloodied leg barely holding him up, his fingers clutching the Yamato as tightly as he could. It felt like the whole world had crashed upon his shoulders and little more than pride kept him together as his gaze found Dante’s blue eyes. Relief flooded through him at his brother’s usual smile--then the desk moved, flung upward by a quick kick, and slammed right into his forehead. 

He fell backward with grunt, pain shooting through his shoulder as he tried to catch himself with the wrong hand, unwilling to let go of the Yamato with his right one. When his vision cleared, Dante towered over him and the Devil Sword Dante rested against his chest.

Something snapped within Vergil. His friends--his family--were dying. His son was dying! Now was not the time for a fight. He brought the tip of the Yamato under the other blade and tapped it up. “I don’t have time for this, Dante!”

Dante didn’t smile. The Devil Sword came right back down, harder, drawing a sharp line along Vergil’s sternum. “How did you get the Yamato?”

His voice rumbled and his eyes were thunder, and suddenly Vergil _understood_. He’d teleported in here without warning, covered in blood, with a weapon that ostensibly belonged to Nero--and surely Dante knew who Nero was to them, if he’d given him the Yamato? Panic gripped his heart, but he pushed it away and lifted his chin.

“He’s dying.” 

They all were, all four of them, and he was stuck having to explain himself to his brother? _They didn’t have time_. He’d made his choice and came here and now he needed to get through with it, as fast as possible, before they all paid for his decision. He couldn’t wait on Dante’s judgement.

“I didn’t do it. You can believe that or you can kill me now, Dante, but I don’t have time for the whole story.” He ignored the sword at his chest and rolled to the side, getting on his knees, half-expecting Dante to skewer him for it. His brother watched in furious, indecisive silence, and Vergil managed to find his unsteady footing again, his whole body threatening to give up as he straightened up. “I need to go back. Give me my power.”

Dante was on him in half a second, but this time Vergil saw it coming and lifted the Yamato, placing it unsteadily between them, catching the Devil Sword before it sliced through him. He didn’t stand a chance in a real fight, he knew it, but if Dante gave him no choice, he’d try.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Dante jumped back and fell into a fighting stance. “All these years you really had me convinced your demon squad could change you. One day I’ll learn--my brother’s never gonna be anything but the worst.” 

Bitterness soaked Dante’s tone, a literal punch in Vergil’s stomach. His shoulder and ankle burn, his heart throbbed with deep, agonizing fear. 

“They’re _dying_ , Dante.” 

His voice shattered, sweeping his control along with it. Every inch of his body hurt, he was dizzy from blood loss, and the void left by his three companions kept widening, leaving him a pile of broken, trembling shards. The lump in his throat had grown so tight, he could barely get any sound past. 

“Our link’s twisted. Here.” He frantically pulled his right sleeve up, knowing without having looked that it would’ve changed. Griffon’s characteristic patterns were flaking off, their jet-black ink a dull gray. Dante stiffened at the sight. “Every minute we spend apart, they die a little more, and I’m not strong enough to repair the bond and protect them. I can’t--I can’t lose them.” A choked sound escaped him but he forced the Yamato’s tip higher and continued, honest truth steadying his voice. “Every happy memory I’ve made over the last decade was with them. They need me, and I need them. I’ve told you once before, Dante: without might, you cannot protect anything.” He met his brother’s gaze, his entire body trembling. “I will not lose them. _I need more power._ ”

Dante just stared at him, and for once in his life, he was completely unreadable. Vergil held his gaze in silence, tilting his chin up, but all he could think of was the three stalemate orbs slowly greying, their heart dimming, and Nero collapsed nearby, bleeding. Every. Second. Dying a little more while Dante made up his mind. Vergil couldn’t take the wait, not now. 

“Come with me and see for yourself. _Please_ , Dante, I beg you.” Vergil could hardly believe the words streaming out of him, slipping between the cracks of his broken pride. None of it mattered, not if he never heard Griffon again, never woke to Shadow’s paw across his face, never leaned against Nightmare while he plunged into his latest book. He _needed_ them. Vergil let the Yamato’s tip fall back down. “You can take it all back after, if you must. I want _them_ , Dante, not my power.”

He was shaking. Goddamnit, he was shaking like a leaf of paper, and wouldn’t Griffon have a blast pointing it out? But the bird wasn’t here, might never be again, all over a--

“All right,” Dante said. He extended a hand, and a white cane appeared within it, thrumming with recognizable energy. Vergil stifled his urge to lunge for it. “Open your portal, Vergil. If Nero’s dying, I’m coming too. Then you and I… we need to talk.”

Vergil didn’t waste another second. He slashed the Yamato through the air, the lines shaky and imperfect, and limped right back to Fortuna, Dante on his heels.

###

As soon as the portal closed behind them, Dante ran to Nero’s side, picking up his head to cradle it. Vergil’s stomach twisted--part of him knew that should be his role, _wanted_ it to be his, especially when Nero cracked his eyes open, smiled weakly, and muttered something about having no pizza at home. Vergil snapped down on his longing and threw the Yamato their way. Dante caught it, obvious surprise painting his expression, but Vergil only gestured at the cane, the physical embodiment of all his power.

He hadn’t dared to turn towards the orbs yet, wasn’t sure he could take the sight of them again. Dante ignored his extended hand, first placing the Yamato in Nero’s palm and curling the boy’s fingers around the pommel. More seconds passed, each like a death counter ticking down. Was his brother testing him? Had he tricked him to save Nero, with no intention of letting him save Griffon and the others?

“ _Dante_.” 

Blue light shone along the Yamato’s edge then turned into outright flames, coursing all over Nero’s body. And finally, _finally_ , Dante straightened up and walked to him. He placed the cane in Vergil’s hand.

“Don’t make me regret it, brother.”

Vergil wasn’t listening. He clasped the cane and smashed it on his knee, forgetting for an instant this leg was utterly wrecked. He stumbled at the sudden flare of pain, but it lasted only a moment, vanishing as his power flooded back in.

A strangled laugh escaped him as the pain vanished, wounds knitting themselves while his skin turned scaly and blue and turquoise and his hands stretched into claws, his entire body latching upon the demonic power, shifting and changing to match it. His long blue tail flicked, excited by the power surging through every inch of his soul, leaving him light-headed and oh-so-thrilled, so full of energy. This… this was _everything_. 

And yet, a hole remained, its jagged edges brutally bringing the rush of joy to an end. Vergil’s eyes snapped open, his gaze seeking the three orbs, the three companions to complete his life. He could feel the pulse of another demon behind, the aura familiar and new all at once, but he ignored it, striding towards the orbs. The cracks along Nightmare’s sphere had deepened and spidered out, the sun’s glare masking the purple heart’s light, leaving it grey and dead, and cold fear shot through Vergil’s power euphoria.

No. No no no, it couldn’t be. 

Vergil threw everything he had into the twisted link, wrapping his power around its broken form, diverting even his own healing to pour it into their bond. The link remained dead, unresponsive, out of shape, and Vergil’s world unravelled, the cold reaching into every inch of his body, freezing him before it could hurt too much.

A pulse reached through his growing numbness. A tiny, gentle response from Nightmare, and Vergil scrambled forward, setting two clawed hands over their orb. 

“I need you, Nightmare,” he whispered.

The pulse strengthened, and Vergil pushed even more energy into it, keeping one hand on the orb while he reached for Shadow’s stalemate with the other. His tail slunk out, wrapping around Griffon’s orb and bringing it close. Their bond was reforming, mending, reshaping itself with fascinating ease--the demonic strength in him pouring out endlessly towards them, smoothing cracks in the orbs and breathing new life into the dim lights. 

Vergil drew Nightmare out first, coaxing them out of the orb, feeding them ever more power--and he had _so much of it_ , stars, he had forgotten how tremendous the Qliphoth’s power was, how world changing. He didn’t even need to be careful about his own strength, and soon the great demon was emerging, clawed fists reaching out of the ground, then a head, their gentle purple eye firmly ensconced in the body of black sludge. They reached a clawed fist down, running one along Vergil’s horns with surprising precision. 

He leaned into the touch as he shifted his attention to Shadow’s orb. The panther was waiting for him, and with but a little push, she came pouncing out of the orb, slamming into his chest. He fell back with a sobbing laugh, and only then realized his devil trigger had faded. Hints of tiredness started seeped through the exaltation, warning signs that his energy wasn’t, in fact, limitless. He pushed Shadow’s face back, and she morphed around his hand, tiny spikes digging playfully into his skin. 

“Just a moment, love," he whispered, his voice a broken croak. "We’re still missing your Voice.”

Their excitement mingled with his, so clear through the bond, so grounding. Vergil sat up, cross-legged, and extended his once-wounded arm, bringing the blue-hearted orb closer. Shadow circled around him, pressing her body into his, prickling him still, and Vergil sent his mind after Griffon. Pure, utter joy responded, and in an instant the sphere turned into electric blue wings and Griffon burst out, spinning on himself and snapping them out, his cawish laugh music to Vergil’s ears. 

“Here I am!” he exclaimed. “Ya missed me?”

His tone was playful, but a burst of anxiety coursed through the link. Vergil grabbed one of his legs and yanked him down unceremoniously, catching both sides of his head and leaning his forehead against Griffon’s, nose to his beak. The strange feathers were soft under his fingers, so intimately familiar and reassuring, and the sensation hit him hard, draining what little emotional resistance he had left. Tears streamed down his face, pouring out with a will of their own. Words had deserted him, but it didn’t matter, not anymore, not with their link reestablished. He sent them a burst of love as he wrapped an arm around Shadow. Nightmare set a fist against his back, holding him up even as he leaned into it, grinning like a fool.

“Woah, hey, all right paper boy. You’re kinda embarrassing us all right now.”

“I thought you were gone,” he whispered. He pushed more of his newfound power towards them, not caring how increasingly exhausted he felt as long as they were healthy and happy. He could always sleep it off.

“Gone? Us?” Griffon nudged him with his beak, clearly unwilling to stray too far from his position in Vergil’s lap. “We’ll never go. We’re a team, remember? A family!”

And yet he caught strands of doubts in Griffon, ill-concealed under all his relief. Vergil gently teased at it, a silent, mental poke to see if Griffon would allow him to prod further--and suddenly he was flooded with his demon bird’s anxious panic, his growing fear that _he_ had been abandoned, replaced by Nero.

“Griffon,” he said softly, because some words needed to be said aloud, to be affirmed in front of all. “I’ll never go. You’re my team. My family.”

“I know, paper boy… I know.” He shook himself and let little sparks crackled along his wings. “I’m just totally irreplaceable!” 

Vergil smiled, running a thumb along his beak. “That you are, in all the worst ways possible.”

“Oh, hey! Rude!” And Griffon flew off in mock hurt, trailed by their collective amusement. "Ya could've at least pretended in front of the gallery, ya know."

Vergil's chuckle died on his lips, his heartbeat stumbling as he remembered Dante and Nero were _right there_. He wiped his eyes, as if it wasn't horridly too late for that--as if they hadn't seen him bawl like a foolish child already. Part of him wished he could vanish into Nightmare without ever looking at them, but even as the thought crossed his mind, the large demon pulled back, pushing at his shoulder. All three of them now nestled in the jagged hole their temporary absence had left and encouraged him to talk with his more human family. 

Dread climbing into his heart, Vergil lumbered back to his feet and turned towards the family he had betrayed or abandoned more often than he could count, preparing for a final, painful goodbye.


	5. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vergil faces his second, older family.

At first, Vergil could only stare at Nero.

His son still clutched the Yamato and a beautiful blue shape hovered above him, horns curving forward and wings spread out. The form was so reminiscent of his doppelgangers, familiar to Vergil yet uniquely suited to Nero, shaped as a reflection of _his_ soul. No wonder Dante had known he was his son, if thatwas what he could do with the Yamato. The demon above moved like a shadow of Nero himself, and when the young man wiped his nose, so did he. Vergil snickered despite himself. Nero glared and dropped the trigger. He'd already recovered some colour, at least, and could stand on his own.

Neither of them had yet uttered a word. Thankfully, Dante didn't care much for long awkward silences.

"So. Guess that's that, then!" He spread out his arms and set hands on his hips with a forced smile.

“Right.” Vergil shifted on the balls of his feet. It wasn’t over, not really, not until… His gaze went to the Yamato, then to Dante. He had made a promise--one born of pitiful, desperate bartering, perhaps, but a promise nonetheless. “Will you…”

Vergil didn’t want to lose his powers again, yet if it was the price to pay for Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare, then he would pay it as often as life required it. He braced himself and felt his three demons right there with him, a diffuse gratitude spreading through his mind.

Dante shook his head. “We’re not going through that again.”

Vergil closed his eyes, struggling with the intense relief coursing through him. He felt… whole again, in a way he hadn’t in years--decades, even. He forced a deep, shuddering breath in, pushing back the tears that threatened to return. He really had no emotional bandwidth left, no energy for the masks that had once been so natural for him. Vergil nodded his thanks, giving his voice an additional second to steady itself. He should say something to Nero, but he had no idea what, couldn’t fathom any words that would be well received after he’d left him to die, vanishing with the Yamato to save Griffon and the others.

“Then I shall take my leave,” he said.

He’d taken only one step away that Griffon was already blundering through his mind. _“You left him dying? For_ us _?”_

The bird could read the answer well enough in his mind, so Vergil didn’t waste energy trying to put words on the experience. He doubted any could properly cover it, either way. The enormity of today was starting to sink in, leaving his skull and skin buzzing. He would be glad for quiet time with himself.

"Vergil, wait."

Dante's voice rooted him in his spot. He could never resist his brother, not with that longing in his voice. Boots thumped on the ground as Vergil turned, and suddenly Dante was right there, throwing his arms around him, pulling him close and squeezing hard. Vergil didn't know how to react--the pressure around his lower back and shoulder blades was too real, too _pleasant_ \--he couldn't believe he had Dante squeezed like that against him after a lifetime of conflict.

 _"I ain't no mind reader, but I think he wants ya to hug him back,"_ Griffon whispered.

And it was obvious that's what Dante was going for, yet it still took Vergil a moment to lift his arm, bring them around his brother, and lean into the hug. Every awkward movement felt unnatural and his throat tightened with them. They must have looked foolish, but he closed his eyes and forced himself not to care. This was good, impossibly so.

"Dante…" His voice was rough with tears, and his vision blurred.

"Shh. Don't ruin it, Vergil. It's too good to have you back."

Vergil wanted to say he'd been there the last ten years, but that wasn't true, not to Dante. He had not seen Vergil settle in this new life. To him, he had been a risk, a potential threat that could come haunting him back, the brother he'd needed to kill or defeat over and over. But not anymore…

"I believe I've cried enough today for a lifetime, Dante. Cease… please."

A choked chuckle escaped Dante, then he sniffed loudly. He gave a quick pat on Vergil’s shoulder, released him, and mumbled “Apparently I haven’t.” He cleared his throat, then, and whispered. “There’s something you should know. About Nero…”

Vergil’s gaze snapped to the younger demon hunter, staring at them and obviously flustered by the show of affection. His left hand was still wrapped around the Yamato, the katana back in its scabbard. Vergil pulled away from Dante. “I know,” he said softly, before raising his voice. “He called the Yamato his inheritance and… I can accept that--that this is where it belongs now.”

It hurt to say--hurt to even consider, really. Between Nelo Angelo and the last decade, he’d been without it for most of his life now, yet this was the first time he willingly gave it, and it felt like a betrayal. Yamato was _his._ The pleased surprise widening Nero’s eyes went a long way to dampen his own bitterness, however.

“You serious?” Nero asked, a hitch in his voice.

Vergil paused, fighting a powerful urge to walk back on the offer, then nodded. Griffon nudged his mind for him to say more. He still had no idea what, though. “Nero, I’m…” 

Nero shook his head. “If you’re gonna apologize for leaving me here to bleed, save it. I get it.” His gaze drifted between all three demons hanging a few steps behind, like they were giving him the space for this _other_ family meeting. “If I’d had to choose between Kyrie or you, I’d have left your ass in the dirt without the slightest pause. Blood links don’t mean shit, do they?” The question was soaked in bitterness, as if Nero knew this to be true but wished it otherwise. ”We don’t know each other anyway."

That was false, after a fashion. They had worked together when he had been only V, and in that brief span of time Vergil had discovered a stubborn, foul-mouthed young man with every inch of his own pride and determination, but a selflessness that ran far deeper than he could properly imagine. _His son_. A strange, unknown longing burned through him at the idea, turning words to smoke and leaving him with only a grunt and a nod as an answer.

Three minds nudged his, pushing him to do more than that, to act on the longing they shared in part. Vergil should not have been surprised. They had known Nero, too.

 _“Yeah, he’s an aggressive little shit,”_ Griffon replied in his mind, not without a hint of fondness, and Vergil fought to keep a straight face.

Then the accursed bird flew off from his perch on Nightmare’s shoulder with a loud _caw-ha_ , swooping down on Nero and banking off at the very last minute, brushing his face with the blue wings. “Ya know, the whole not-knowin’ each other’s a problem ya can fix. We should have dinner together! I betcha been missing me, scruff boy! Ya just can’t wait to invite good ol’ Griffon back into your life, I can smell it. And I get it, I get it, I really do!”

Nero swatted at him with the Yamato, scowling. “The only way you’re comin’ to dinner is if we’re eating chicken, pea brain! I’m all up for tryin’ that barbecue sauce you keep squawking about.”

“Always with the violence!” Griffon protested, before landing on Red Queen’s handle. “Ya really oughta pay more respect to your elders, kiddo. I’m centuries old, ya know?”

“Yeah? That explains the addled brain.” Nero started off towards the exit, but he didn’t bat away at Griffon or otherwise push him off his sword. “We got more demons to clear away b’fore I shove you on a spike. Think you can make it, gramps?”

It was a peace offering, an open door for him to step through. He could walk away now, since the main threat had been destroyed, and return to his previous life, his powers once more at his command. Or he could stay a little longer, hovering near the family he’d shut himself away from for decades, even if only for an hour.

As Nero walked away, Vergil turned towards his brother. Dante was grinning, his whole body more relaxed than Vergil could ever remember seeing. He stretched out a lazy hand towards the forest around them, crawling with demons.

"I could use the exercise. What d'ya say, Vergil? I could have your back, and you mine."

Shadow interrupted the offer with a soft roar of protest and circled around Vergil, surprising him with waves of protectiveness. Vergil struggled to parse if she was worried or jealous, but he extended a palm and let her engulf his forearm in nibbling spikes. "I've had someone to watch my back for a decade, Dante, but we can have yours, just this once.”

Dante laughed as they plunged through the trees and Shadow bounded forward, her head morphing into a spike while she nailed her first hellbat. He flicked his hand on the Devil Sword Dante appeared in his palm. “It’ll be nice to be on the right end of those spikes for once.”

Vergil replied with a sing-song _hmm_ and sent a first flurry of summoned swords, turning one of the marionettes into a pincushion. The blades had shimmered into existence with the slightest mental flex, responding to his command, and he smirked as the demon exploded into dust. 

“We always team up when there are clowns to destroy, don’t we?” he asked, piercing another of the dancing marionettes. He wanted to trigger and run into the fray, to slam clawed hand through demons and release “Maybe it’s why I wind up attacking you next every time. You’re easy to confuse with them.”

Dante’s sharp laugh filled Vergil’s heart with easy warmth. He’d jumped on top of a Nobody and spun on himself, slashing through the thing’s massive hands. “Perhaps it’s those glasses of yours, Vergil. Looks to me like your eyesight might need a lil’ help.”

Vergil scowled and reflexively pushed the glasses up his nose. He hadn’t noticed they were still there. They’d merged with his devil trigger earlier, but if he had them yet felt no headache… He removed them for a moment and held back a curse as the world blurred in front of him. It seemed his powers couldn’t heal everything. 

Dante laughed at his quick test, leaping from the Nobody’s corpse to a hellbat swooping down towards Vergil, killing it with one blow before using it as a springboard and jumping all the way back to his twin’s side. He yanked the glasses out of his grasp, and alarm coursed through Vergil.

“Dante!” 

He reached for them, but Dante quickly dodged out of the way, grinning. “I just wanna try ‘em on, brother!”

A swarm of marionettes crawled from behind as Dante shoved the glasses in his face. Vergil dashed forward, summoned swords flying past his brother to eliminate the threat even as he plucked the glasses from Dante’s nose. Dante grinned, and without moving, he pointed Ebony upward. Vergil caught the movement and raised his palm, shooting a summoned sword just as Dante pressed the trigger. They jumped back in sync, a demon’s body smashing between them, and Vergil casually returned the glasses where they belong.

“You’re the worst, little brother.”

And yet it was so easy to fool around with him, to fight by Dante’s side as if decades of bloody history did not rest between them. Dante’s shit-eating grin didn’t budge as he shrugged. “Only to you, Vergil.”

Before either of them could take the banter one step further, Nero came crashing through the trees, cracking branches and sending leaves flying as he landed heavily besides them. 

“Are you two gonna help, or ya just wanna fuck around while we do all the real work?”

Griffon dove after, clearly out of breath, and landed on the pommel to Nero’s Red Queen again. When Vergil quested through their bonds, he realized he’d carried Nero part of the way. For the dramatic effect. Vergil rolled his eyes. 

“I am afraid I can do nothing to help Dante’s laziness. But I did send my companions to your aid, did I not?”

“Send?” Griffon repeated, incredulous, before snapping his beak and turning to Shadow. “Did you hear that, kitty?”

Shadow melted out of the ground with a low rumble, her patterns lighting up as her clear disappointment coursed through the link. Griffon’s exaggerated offense mixed in, and soon even Nightmare made it clear they expected Vergil to join in. A soft laugh escaped him, and he extended his arm for Griffon to jump on. 

“Very well,” he conceded, and he forced himself to look at Nero, still covered in blood and grime from their stint in Hell, determination shining in his eyes. “We… made a good team, in Hell. Would you care to reiterate?”

Nero snorted. “Why d’you think I’m here? Ya said you were here to save the city. Well, the job ain’t done yet. And once we’re done here, I’m kicking _your_ ass for leaving me to die.” 

Nero’s fingers wrapped around the Yamato and he pointed it at Vergil. A wave of power rolled out of him as he summoned his demonic helper again, and Vergil’s lips twitched into a smile at the challenge. He would gladly take Nero on, especially to test that unique ability. Tiny studs of pride lined up his heart as he contemplated what Nero could already do with the Yamato.

_“Aww, you’re melting on the inside, paper boy! Get off your sappy ass and get to work. We got your boy to impress!”_

Griffon flew off his arm with a squawk, narrowly dodging the summoned sword Vergil had sent after him before returning the favour with a spark. Vergil huffed. “It’s torture, having him in my mind all the time,” he said by the way of explanation--and it was made truer by the fact Griffon was right. He did want to impress Nero.

 _“Let’s show what a decade of teamwork’s worth,”_ he sent the familiars. _“I’m counting on all of you.”_

Nightmare reemerged from the ground behind him, picking Vergil up from the ground and setting him on his shoulders. A wide variety of lesser demons still ran across the forest, many heading straight for their little group, unaware of the quick death it’d earn them. Feet spread firmly on Nightmare’s shoulder, Vergil looked down at Nero and Dante.

“I have no doubt that we can kill more than either of you, even with my devil trigger depleted and Yamato out of my hands.”

Dante burst out laughing but didn’t bother with a response. The wings on Nero’s doppelganger flared out and he lifted the Yamato. 

“Don’t ya wish,” he declared, then he was off on his own killing spree, Dante shaking his head as he watched him go.

Vergil’s smirked, but there was a strange quality to his mirth. He could hardly believe the events unfolding now, and the possibilities left him light-headed and jittery. He'd need time alone to fully absorb and accept this brutal change in his life, yet part of him wished this would never end, that he'd never have to go his own way again. He loved Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare, but it had taken only a handful of minutes of banter with Dante for his twisted, confused desire to deserve a place in this family to flare back to life, scorching his heart. Nero may never forgive him--rightly so--but they could at least coexist in the same space. And Dante… Dante had hugged him.

Vergil closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. His secret was out, his powers had returned, and the world seemed full of terrifying possibilities. As his fear surged up, the three familiars braced him. They would always be there, no matter what.

 _“I_ would _ditch ya for a chance to be in the room when Lady finally goes off on Dante,”_ Griffon informed him, and Vergil could only laugh. He could not resent Griffon that particular desire, and hoped either of them deigned to inform him of the result afterwards.

Vergil forced his mind away from the delightful scenario of Lady telling his brother she’d known about his lies for years now and potentially following through on the frequently uttered desire to set a bullet through his forehead for it. He turned his attention to the cleanup at hand, eager to help his familiars re their kill count as fast as possible. They were his team, and now that he had the bewildering chance to fight-compete with his blood family, he would have no one else by his side to nail in his victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aand here we are, THE END.
> 
> The truth is, this has been one of the hardest ends to write. I wanted to find a balance between where these characters are now, a full ten years after a heavily modified DMC5, and the potential for a slow, hard-earned better future. Basically an ending where another door opens up. I hope it works for at least most of you!
> 
> Thank you all so much for following this series. It holds a special place in my heart, even if it's a bit outside of my beaten path, and it's been a pleasure to have you all along for the ride. <3

**Author's Note:**

> It's gonna be a fun time with father and son!! In Hell!!


End file.
